Notes to Self
by TrueAwesomeSauce
Summary: What's a girl to do until her shift ends? Reflect, maybe, and make Notes to Self on the subject of boys and other things of interest…   Uhura still has quite a thing for a certain Vulcan. Obviously.      was - Boys will be Boys
1. Boys Will Be Boys

_Disclaimer: _Note to anybody who thinks about litigation way too much: I obviously don't own any Vulcans. Because if I did…

_Boys Will Be Boys_

"Vulcans do not believe in violence."

"Vulcans never bluff."

"Vulcans do not make threats: Threats are illogical."

Uh, huh.

He'd been making pronouncements, again, and the boys had let him. Just sat there and let him. Did they really not even _get_ what a unique individual he was?

How would those boys like to be lumped together like that? Based on her own statistical analysis, she could make some observations about human male Star Fleet officers that would curl your hair! For the purposes of list-making, she decided just to abbreviate "human male Star Fleet officers" to "boys" because - _Duh_.

Boys took foolish chances and had bad luck. Bad, bad, bad, bad luck.

- In fact boys were really just lucky that they had competent female human Star Fleet officers to monitor their frequencies and thereby rescue their landing-party-risk-taking asses. Oh, and Vulcans. They were lucky to have Vulcans.

Boys ignored good advice and made snap decisions (to "ignore Uhura, she's being a killjoy. Let's beam down right now, Bones, c'mon!") dependent upon, it seemed, whether there might be awesome waves, big climbable rocks, or attractive female aliens (not necessarily in that order) to encounter on strange new worlds.

- This meant that they ignored their Vulcans.

- This also meant that boys beamed down to planets already not thinking clearly and thus risking the lives of themselves, their friends and their crewmates. Including Vulcans (who don't like water or climbing, and who are not allowed to appreciate attractive female aliens on strange new worlds, thank you very much).

Boys do not adequately appreciate human female Star Fleet personnel.

- Obvs. Except their butts in their uniforms.

Boys feel threatened by successful powerful human female Star Fleet personnel.

- Even when the said personnel have just hauled their asses out of a seriously unpleasant situation that was about to transpire relative to some big rocks, awesome waves, and attractive female aliens. On a strange new world.

- Also, being rescued causes boys to say really harsh and hurtful things about the aforementioned personnel and the enjoyableness of their company.

Which is okay because:  
- Yay! Vulcans do not appreciate water or, well, you know – but they do dig successful powerful human female Star Fleet personnel. A lot. (Did I mention: 'Yay'?)

Boys were boring.

She decided to make a different list, based on her own, personal observations of Vulcans. Well, Vulcan, really, but she has observed him a lot. A lot. Really. Because, well, _damn_.

Vulcans were more fun than boys.

- Smarter

- Stronger

- Hotter

Okay. Sooooo distracted.

Try again.

Start with something really obvious. And innocent.

Because if she spent too much time really thinking about her own particular Vulcan, then she'd think about how long his legs were, and how his ass looked in his uniform, and how he'd lock eyes with her as he sloooowly peeled that uniform off - and how, underneath, he was hot, hot, _hot_ - and how he'd… damn.

List, remember? 'Innocent.'

'Vulcans have pointy ears.'

Oh, 'and eyebrows that go up like this.'

- Vulcans were also really, really private, so she thought maybe she shouldn't actually write down how when she went like this: *** on her Vulcan's ear, his skin would heat a little, his lips would part, and she could hear him breathing. And how his eyes would darken, and how he'd reach for her, and then he'd…

_Damn._


	2. Breakfast

_Breakfast_

Author's note: Well, I was going to put this in Comforts of Home, because a nice, hot breakfast would normally be considered one of those - but then I reconsidered: I think Uhura has more on her mind than I originally realized, and might prefer to make a note-to-self on the subject.

* * *

_Breakfast_

Hot?

Best that way, really.

She smiles internally, thinking of breakfast, and that morning's overheard conversation: A few tidbits snatched from the mouths of two girls whose voices had trailed off when they suspected the no-nonsense Communications Officer was getting close enough to catch their words.

Outside, she looks as professional as ever: No one on the Bridge will see that smile.

She had just received her food: She was holding her breakfast tray in Rec Room Five; her morning tea, delicate and strong, was steaming - fragrant vapour curling upwards. And Commander Spock was headed her way.

She had seen him, first, moving toward her from the doorway, as she turned from the dispensers.

Moving easily – Disciplined body relaxed, powerful stride long and fluid, determined face serene…

…hunger temporarily satisfied.

(Temporarily: Like hers.)

And then she noticed heads turning, more than just a few.

He didn't notice – He likely never would.

And a blonde and brunette in front of her had not seen any reason to conceal their own voracious appraisal from anyone but him.

The blonde had whispered eagerly, "Don't you think he's hot?" - Her willing eyes following greedily as Mr. Spock walked smoothly past.

Under other circumstances, she might not have been so bold: It was patently evident that the First Officer was not paying any attention to her, whatsoever, intent –as he was - upon thoughts of his own.

"Oh," the other had replied keenly - leaning a little, to look around her friend, "Yes. He's hot. Verrrry hot…"

They were not aware of Uhura's aural sensitivity, of course. Or the fact that it was into her eyes that Spock was looking, as he passed - That frank, fleeting glance a faint public shadow of the probing, intimate gaze he had favored her with, a mere hour before.

Hot.

At her station, Lieutenant Uhura puts one hand to the little comm device seated firmly in her left ear, and turns slightly in her chair, pretending she is letting her vision aimlessly stray as she listens intently to the absolutely nothing that is coming through the thing. She rechecks all her monitors; and adjusts one console control with the tip of her index finger, just to be sure. Nothing of importance. Nothing at all.

She turns a little more, and her eyes slide to the right.

He is intent upon his own work; his spine straight, his eyes moving as his focus shifts rapidly from screen to screen. She has a perfect view of his left ear, his jaw, his left bicep flexing as his hands fly purposefully over the console.

His hands.

So hot.

Long fingers, both forceful and delicate.

They are slowing now, their movement almost... leisurely.

She fidgets in her chair, a bit - taps her fingers impatiently, fine-tuning the earpiece that is telling her nothing.

Spock's left hand drops to his thigh, and rests there quietly, a moment, curved over his quadriceps. His head bends, a little, as he leans forward, pulling back his extended left foot - and his hand rises slightly with the shifting, bunching movement of the muscle on which it lies.

On which hers had lain, this morning.

Over which it had moved - with purpose of its own.

She is not going to smile.

His hand returns to the Science console, and his fingers play confidently, surely, over the controls.

She can still feel the blazing path those fingers forged over her naked, waiting skin… Delicate, yes, but strong – and insistent.

Hungry.

(Ravenous, in fact.)

And, hot.

She turns her eyes, and her chair, back toward her own station.

Oh, yes. Spock is hot.

Very hot.

Really, she notes, lifting one hand to her earpiece, some things are just best that way.


End file.
